


Likely I Am At Fault

by shatteredhourglass



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Is Never Not Deaf In My Fics, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M, Short & Sweet, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 00:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16074854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredhourglass/pseuds/shatteredhourglass
Summary: Clint forgets his aids and Bucky tries to come to the rescue. [[REFORMATTED 24/09/18





	Likely I Am At Fault

“Oh,” Clint says as he stops in the middle of the hallway. “Oh, motherfucker.”

He’s not sure if he manages to scandalize anyone in the crowded area, because he’s right in the swarm of people heading for the theatre entrance and he _doesn’t have his hearing aids._ Shit. It’s been a long day; first Doctor Doom decided it was a good day to try and blow up his apartment, and then he’d been dragged off and stuffed into a tuxedo for this- whatever this was, he hadn’t been listening. And he’d put his aids on the sink in the Tower while he fixed his hair and had left them there. Goddamnit. He’s a damn idiot and shouldn’t be allowed out in public, honestly. He can’t function like this.

He can see Natasha’s red hair ahead, too far to navigate through in the throng of puffy dresses and men in suits. She’s the only one that knows about the aids in the first place, but there’s no way he’ll get through to her without someone stopping him for a conversation. A conversation he won’t be able to follow correctly. Steve’s closer, talking to Agent Hill quietly, but Clint hasn’t even told any of the Avengers (bar Natasha, of course) he’d gone deaf in the first place. Showing weaknesses, even in front of allies, is hard. Especially after Loki, because trust in the superhero industry is worn thin at the best of times and Clint still can’t look Thor in the eye when he talks about his trickster brother.

He flails a little on the spot, unexpected panic surging up his throat at all the things he can’t hear. It doesn’t normally bother him, but he’s expected to socialize at this stupid party thing and lipreading is hard when you’re tired. He’s stressed and exhausted and he can’t __hear shit__ , and then a hand is grabbing his elbow and steering him through the crowd without any room for argument. Natasha’s normally the only one that actually handles him, so the surprise of the move is what stops him from breaking off the offending hand. He’s led to a small balcony that reveals a nice view of the garden below, and then he turns to his assailant.

Bucky Barnes raises one eyebrow, leaning back against the door.

Clint’s still not used to the short hair; he’d seen the pictures of Barnes in the thirties, sure, but it didn’t really capture the unkempt, messy glory that faced him now. He’d cut it all off with scissors during a bad day, and a barber had neatened it, but it was still shockingly different. The fringe is flopping in his face in gentle brown waves, he’s mastered artful bed hair. Someone’s let him borrow a suit, and he’s gotten rid of the jacket already and pushed the sleeves of the black button-up to his elbows, and Clint’s eyes are drawn to the gleam of the metal arm in the moonlight. His eyes look silver from this angle, and he looks absurdly beautiful and completely unattainable. It’s not fair.

- _okay _,__ Barnes is saying, when Clint remembers to watch his bitten-red lips. _Looked like a-?_ He doesn’t catch the rest of the sentence.

“Can’t hear you,” Clint says, and even if he can’t hear the dismay in his own voice he’s pretty sure it’s evident by the way Bucky’s brow creases with concern. Awh, even the frozen assassin feels sorry for him.

 _ _-_ is this normal? _Bucky asks, stepping closer so Clint has no alternative but to read his lips. He’s looking at Clint directly, and it’s a little too much, especially with his ears out of order. At least they’re out of the way here, where no one can see their impromptu staring contest. Bucky’s right hand lands on his shoulder and it’s unexpectedly warm, even through the layers of suit and shirt. He spots the left hand reaching inside Bucky’s jacket to pull out a gun and whoops, he’d gotten distracted and forgot to explain that there wasn’t an active threat.

“Put that down,” he orders, swatting the gun from Bucky’s hand. He takes it with his other hand and tucks the Glock in the waistband of his own suit pants.

 _Who did this,_ Bucky demands, and he’s actually letting Clint steal his gun, wow. It must be love.

“No one did- well, some people did, but they’re all dead now, I think,” he informs. “You trying to be my white knight, Barnes? Gonna ride in on a white horse and beat up the bad men for me?”

To be totally honest, he kind of likes the idea, even if he’s certainly able to take care of himself. He’s seen the videos of the Winter Soldier absolutely decimating Hydra, and the look on his face when he’d been destroying the place kind of got Clint hot under the collar. Bucky flushes an interesting shade of red and takes a step back, crossing his arms. Clint kind of misses his warmth, because it’s pretty cold out here and his tuxedo is cheap and worn thin. There’s also a rip somewhere on the back of his knee, from an altercation with Crossfire at a banquet last August, and he can feel the cool air on his skin. Bucky tilts his head like he’s waiting for an explanation, which he probably is. Clint takes in a breath, holds for a few seconds and then lets it go. He wasn’t planning on telling anyone, but the situation doesn’t really give him a choice. If he brushes it off Bucky will ask Steve, and then Steve will ask Tony, and then everyone will know he’s not completely functional.

“I’m deaf,” he says, looks down at his scuffed dress shoes.

When he looks back up, Bucky is studying him with an unreadable expression. Clint wonders if this is how he gets kicked off the Avengers- god knows they should’ve gotten rid of him for accidentally blowing up the Quinjet that one time. There’s no room for weaknesses when you’re fighting the kind of villains they fight. He’s painfully, unbearably human compared to the rest of them, and now he’s not even a completely functional human. He appreciates Natasha’s stealth hearing aids she’d brought him, but they weren’t any good if he left them at home. God, he misses being able to hear without help. It’s never gotten any better, he’s just gotten used to it.

Bucky’s expression turns thoughtful, and then he lifts his hands and slowly signs _for how long_

Oh. James Buchanan Barnes can speak ASL. That’s unexpected. Clint raises his own hands so he can sign back- it’s more comfortable, honestly, because it’s unnerving to speak when he can’t hear the sound of his own voice. _A while. I had to bite down on a sonic arrowhead to save someone’s life._

It’s a relief, in a way, to say it. Even if he isn’t actually saying it. Bucky takes in what he’s said and looks up from his slightly shaking hands to his face, and the look on his face is more understanding than pity. _But you can hear us, usually?_

 _My hearing aids. I left them on the sink and now I’m useless,_ he signs resignedly.

 _You’re not useless,_ Bucky signs back, looking unimpressed. _That’s offensive to other disabled people, not just you._

 _Ooh, mister social justice _,__ Clint replies with a smile that’s not particularly nice. _They teach you about disabled rights at Hydra?_

For a minute he thinks he’s taken it too far, that he’s going to get his face punched in for that, but Bucky’s lips curl up in amusement and he starts snickering. Clint snorts and leans back against the balcony, feeling the breeze ruffle his hair. There was supposed to be a presentation of some sorts soon, but he doesn’t care about it and he’s pretty sure Bucky doesn’t either, given the speed he’d escaped with. Clint’s just provided him with the perfect excuse. It’s not like the public will miss them; Hawkeye is just a boring human archer and the Winter Soldier is a dangerous murderer, according to recent newspaper articles.

 _You’re not useless but you are an asshole,_ Bucky signs finally.

 _I never denied it,_ he answers. _What were you planning to do with the gun, anyway?_

Bucky purses his lips. _Don’t know. Am I getting it back, by the way?_

 _Come and get it,_ Clint signs, pushing out his hips in a very unsubtle way. The gun’s still tucked snugly in his pants, but he’s fairly confident Steve Rogers’ best friend isn’t going to go within ten miles of his crotch. Hell, he’d nearly fallen off of the rooftop laughing when he’d heard Captain America call having sex ‘fondue’ that one time.

He’s wrong.

There’s a dark, daring look in those grey-blue eyes and then Bucky is stepping in close again, enough that Clint can almost feel the warmth radiating from him. He means to defend the Glock a little more than he does, but he’s a little startled by Bucky’s closeness and the smell of apples and aftershave, so he just stares with wide eyes as Bucky’s metal hand touches his chest. It trails down to unbutton his jacket so the gun’s easier to access, and then Bucky’s lifting it out of his pants with a dangerous smirk on his face. Clint’s pretty sure his face has caught aflame and he’s going to burn to death from a mixture of embarrassment and proximity to a regrettably attractive assassin.

“Uh,” he says, intelligently.

Bucky tucks the gun back into his jacket, but he doesn’t move away, and the smirk’s still on his face. _Is this how people normally flirt in the future?_

 _No _,__ Clint signs. _They’re normally a little more- do you want me to be flirting with you_

Bucky glances away, looking almost sheepish. _Maybe?_

It really is a shame he doesn’t have his hearing aids, because he’d love to be able to hear the uncertainty in that low Brooklyn accent, but he has to settle for the way Bucky sort of shrugs at him instead. It makes his fringe flop over his eyes again, which is unbearably cute. He reminds Clint of a puppy left out in the rain. And yeah, Clint’s fine with flirting with the former Winter Soldier, even if Steve is probably going to strangle him in a protective rage. He can always hide in the vents again.

 _In that case, how do you feel about blowing this popsicle stand? I know a bar that plays Dog Cops on the TV,_ he signs.

 _Steve won’t like that,_ Bucky signs back, but he doesn’t look particularly upset by the idea. _Let’s do it._

Clint laughs.

This is going to be fun.


End file.
